Parjure
by valmontmerteuil
Summary: He had been raised with her, watching as her heart slowly became shrouded in a fog so thick that the heart that did in fact remain was nearly invisible.


It was absurd that that much passion could be dealt in a single kiss. That much frustration, anger, hurt, that much pure, unadulterated lust. It was wrong that one person should have this much control over him. This one person who he knew to be the only person who could break through the clear encasement of apathy surrounding his being. He dwelled in her. In the cloud of sensations she rose up from the pit of his stomach simply by gracing him with her presence. She was his weakness, his flaw, his vulnerability.

She kissed with a ferocity he had yet to encounter elsewhere. It was as if, with one kiss, she was attempting to bring him once more into her world. Trying to show him the hell he had thrust her into. It almost physically hurt. To feel the anguish he had caused the only person he'd ever truly cared about. He felt unworthy of her. Unworthy of her bittersweet forgiveness.

He reluctantly broke from the kiss and gazed down into her eyes. Deep green eyes that betrayed no emotion due to sheer habit. She had been raised hiding her pain and had thus become an expert at it. But he had been raised with her, watching as her heart slowly became shrouded in a fog so thick that the heart that did in fact remain was nearly invisible. But still there. He had seen her at every stage in her life. Known her when her emotions still shown through her eyes as a normal person's did. He was the only person who had seen tears fall delicately from her eyes since she was a girl of five.

To see her crying was the single most excruciating experience of his young life. It was comparable to having his vital organs ruthlessly ripped from his still living body. Watching the strongest person he knew break. Watching her fall gracelessly from the inconceivably high pedestal she had been placed on since birth. It was the only thing he'd known her to do inelegantly. Fall. And how far she had indeed fallen. She had failed to meet the impossible expectations set before her, and had been obliterated as punishment. The fact that he had contributed to her downfall would forever plague him.

Her feeble attempts to free herself from his iron clad grasp brought him slowly back to reality. He glanced once more into her enigmatic eyes, seeing the pain and confusion residing deep within in their emerald depths.

He sighed as he realized there was no way to rectify the harm he had caused. No way to go back to the way things were. Their relationship had been violently altered by his betrayal and even her uncharacteristic forgiveness could do little to salvage it.

He leaned his head in and captured her lips once more. Her response was less bold than he was used to when dealing with her. It was almost hesitant. As if she was afraid of him. Afraid to open herself up to him once more.

He couldn't blame her. She was an intelligent person. He understood why she was tentative, but that didn't stop him from wishing she wasn't.

These were, after all, kisses interlaced with the fear that they may be their last.

When her elegant lips finally began to move with as much fervor as his own, he ripped suddenly away. Her inquiring eyes begged for answers he couldn't give. He had no reason for his sudden withdrawal, nor did he have one for his treachery.

He clutched her mahogany locks in his hands as if they were a lifeline. How could he explain his actions to her? Or even attempt to? He couldn't. Because he was aware it would look like a feeble attempt to beg forgiveness. And how could you beg for something you'd already been granted? How could he tell her he didn't want her forgiveness because gaining that would only make it all the more clear just how badly he had broken her. He didn't need to be reminded that the woman standing in front of him was only fragments of what she had once been.

She was more a puzzle at that moment than she had been at any other time he'd seen her. He had ripped her soul apart and was now striving to put it back together, struggling over the bits that had been damaged beyond repair. Like the will to live. He had damaged her passion so badly he feared he had become the only person who could bring it out.

She had lost so many things in her life. Many of them things he himself had stolen from her. But he took an odd sort of comfort in the knowledge that there was one thing that led to her current state of detachment he hadn't stolen from her. Though he feared he would have tried had he had the ability. But you can't steal something that never existed. You can't steal a mother's love from her child if the mother never loved her in the first place.

It seemed ludicrous that this perfect creature should be denied a love that seemed such a basic right to the rest of the human population. A mother's love. It is said that giving birth is a magical experience. That from the moment you lay eyes on your child, you feel instantly connected. It's said to be impossible to resist the miracle you brought into the world. Her mother was an exception to the rule.

From the moment her mother had her, she was a nuisance, a mistake. Her mother brushed her off on the maids, barely bothering to pretend to be a mother.

One would think that with such a cold mother, a child could find comfort in her father, but he was rarely present. It wasn't that he didn't love his daughter. He just thought, like most Upper East men, the only thing he needed to bring to the family was monetary support.

And her father had always seen her as an extension of her mother. He hadn't realized that until years later. Her father did love his daughter, but she reminded him too much of his wife. That's why he didn't take her.

The night her father finally left them was one of the hardest days of his life. They were fifteen and sixteen at the time. Much too young to experience the things they did… she did. It was near three in the morning when she called. She begged him to come over. It was still the only thing she'd ever begged him for. He had been in the middle of someone, but she sounded so distressed. He convinced himself it was curiosity that brought him to her house that night. Wouldn't allow himself to realize that even if she had only wanted to talk to him, he still would have rushed over without a second thought. Because even then she meant more to him than anything.

He got to her house in record time and bounded up the front steps. The first thing he saw when he entered was blood. Everywhere. Or at least it seemed to be everywhere. When he actually calmed enough to realize that it couldn't be hers because he'd talked to her only seconds ago, he saw it wasn't really everywhere. It didn't cover everything but it was close. He ran swiftly into the room and saw her mother. His instant reaction was that she must be dead. No one could bleed that much and still be alive. But when he finally made his way over to feel for her pulse, it was there. Faint, but there nonetheless.

He left her mother to search for her. The enigmatic, forbidden, elusive, pessimistic, immoral goddess he had come there for.

He searched the entire house three times before finally returning to the room he had found her mother in, dejected. He knew in the back of his mind he should be calling paramedics or the police to help her mother but all that seemed to matter at the moment was finding her. He sat on the only thing he could find that wasn't covered in blood and put his head in his hands, completely at a loss. It was only then that he heard it. A near silent whimper. His head rose and his eyes searched the room.

The first time his eyes grazed the corner she was huddled in, they missed her, she was that shrunken in on herself. When he finally did see her he rushed to her side. She was shaking violently and her hair hid her face from his view. He recognized the signs of tears, but also dully knew she wasn't crying. His frozen princess didn't cry. And if she ever did he figured it was probably silent and calm and collected. As was everything she did. She didn't break down like this.

He gently brushed her hair away from her face and lifted her chin. Her once vibrant and spirited eyes seemed void of life. They looked at him as if they didn't see him.

He murmured her name, near silently, "Kathryn."

Her head snapped up and her eyes finally seemed to focus. Though it wasn't on him but something just over his left shoulder. "She's dead?" Her even voice didn't seem connected to the quaking body he was holding.

The rest of the night had been a blur. He quickly reassured her that her mother was still alive (though he thought for a moment she looked upset at his words) before calling the police. They came, got a statement and took her mother to the hospital, and left.

She acted unaffected. Went on with life as if nothing was wrong. As if her father hadn't just nearly killed her mother before deserting them. He knew better. He could see her slow attempt to rebuild the icy walls around her heart after having them shattered that night. He could feel her grow colder and more apathetic with each passing day.

That was when she began to pull away from him. She stopped calling him when something went wrong. Stopped telling him what she felt or who she was currently planning to destroy. It was as if she forgot he existed, or if she even noticed him, she no longer trusted him. It was one of the things he never really understood about her. Why she chose that event to destroy her confidence in him. As he did believe it was a choice. It wasn't a subconscious thing as he had done things much worse than that in their day.

He sighed as he tore himself from painful memories. He preferred not reliving the agony he had been in without her. Just the knowledge of what that felt like should have stopped him from scheming with her mother. But it had seemed a good idea at the time. He sighed once more and kissed his beloved's somewhat unyielding lips before whispering into her mouth, "I love you."

She only had a moment to stiffen before he kissed her again (more forcefully this time) and was gone.

A/N: Ummmm can I get a round of EWWWWW please here? I am unbelievably self-conscious about this piece. Despite the encouraging things friends have told me. I dedicate it to you all. You know who you are. Icky. And I know it's not fully explained and all but I do have some ideas of what to do. The tricky thing'll just be writing it now. But if I go say… two weeks without posting anything you're welcome to email me and I'll tell you either if it's ever coming or if not what I was originally planning. Well. At least I'm posting something. Oh and I don't own Cruel Intentions.


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